Lastly, the Captain drew Stavros’s dirk and tested its edge and point on a callused thumb, then handed it back to its new owner, commenting to his departing men, “You can at least trust these damned Ehleenee for that. Their swords may be all glitter and show, but then: backstabbers will be fine steel every time!”
Hahrteeos had been lashed, hand and foot, to the sturdy uprights of the ladder, and Pawl led the armored boy over to the blubbering captive. With Frahnswah translating his words, he said, “Son, we all know of the odious bondage in which this degenerate has held you. If any man owns the right to exact the suffering and death of Lord Hahrteeos, it is you. Your dirk there is a good weapon. Use it on him in any way you wish, but whatever you do do it quickly, for we all now have horses and our new lord awaits us.”
Bili shook his head sadly. They might have had a slim chance to hack through the ill-armed mob, but an uphill charge against so many mounted warriors could have but the one certain outcome.
Then, above the tumult of the rabble, came first the clatter of galloping hooves, then a swelling roar of deep voices bellowing the traditional battlecry of Freefighters:
“BLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODr It changed, as the charging horsemen neared the rear of the mob, to “MORGUHN! DUKE BILI! MORGUHNl MORGUHN!”
In a tight column of fours, Pawl Raikuh’s veterans struck with the irresistible force of a tidal wave! The mob gave way before those flashing sabers, surging up into the lower reaches of the formal gardens, where they were met by the furious charge of Bili and the gentry. At that juncture, the mob ceased to be, dissolving into a broil of panic-stricken men and women, running, scuttling, clawing at whomever blocked their way, scurrying up sidestreets and narrow alleys, the Ehleenoee officers and priests in the van!
Komees Djeen cursed all the way back to Morguhn Hall. For in the hoorah of the charge his prisoner had either fallen or been dragged from off his horse, and they had been able to find neither hide nor hair of the traitorous Vahrohnos. Kooreeos Skiros was still captive however. He had regained consciousness and was loudly damning each and every one of them, promising dire and despicable deaths and afterlives of unspeakable torment if he was not immediately set free and returned to the city. When the subbishop’s outbursts lost their amusement value, a couple of Raikuh’s men helped Klairuhnz to gag his prisoner with a bloodcaked bandage rag and an old bowstring. Then they lashed him into the saddle of a spare horse, face to tail!
Poor Hari rode slumped in his saddle, world-heavy with his sorrows and suddenly appearing older than even Djeen. It was not so much that his wife was now definitely known to be an important member of the rebellion conspiracy, for she had always despised anything which smacked of the Kindred and hated her husband for his Horseclans blood and ways. Nor was it the defection of his younger brother, for Drehkos had ever been unpredictable in his behavior and a frequent champion of questionable people and causes. That his three unmarried daughters were probably in the thing as well was of no real importance, for since they had ceased to be children, they had been but relative strangers who happened to share his hall, board, and name.
All of these smaller sorrows of course added their own less significant weights to the burden on Hari’s laden soul, but what truly crushed the very marrow of his spirit were the last words he had had of Drehkos, ere they had left him locked in the Council Chamber with his comrades.
“It’s possible that our cause will be defeated, brother mine. But if indeed it is, you’ll have to follow your heathenish custom of succession and pass Horse Hall on to your eldest daughter’s son. Even if I die, at least I’ll have seen to it that your by-blow never profanes our fa-ther’s place. That’s right, dear loving brother, I ordered the execution of your precious Vaskos to be performed the moment we were out of sight of the hall!”